Free They by J. F. Gonzalez Page B

religious beliefs, she assumed I was a sinner and was doomed to Hell. And that because I was, she couldn’t associate with me because I would taint her somehow. Right?”
    Lillian reached out again and caressed Vince’s arm. It felt comforting, soothing. “Vincent…I know you’re troubled by all that’s happened. Your mother’s death…your estrangement from her and all. But…she had a good heart. Really, she did. You may think she was crazy, but she really cared about you.”
    “I wish she would have showed it,” Vince said. He drained the rest of his iced tea and stood up. “I’ve got to get going.”
    Lillian stood up and walked with him to the front door. He had to get out of this house now; he felt his throat locking up. He felt like he was going to cry again. He felt that a little part of him was dying; the part that had never known the joy and love of his mother. The love that a mother can bestow on her son.
    He was almost at the front door when he felt Lillian’s hand lightly gripping his arm. “Vincent.”
    He stopped and turned. “Yes?”
    She looked at him, her eyes brimming again with tears, and then moved forward, taking him in her embrace. He held her, her voice low and crackling. “I’m so sorry, Vincent. I’m so sorry.”
    They stood there for a moment, silhouetted in the doorway of Lillian Withers’ comfortable little cottage set off a narrow farm road in rural Pennsylvania as the mid-morning sun peaked high overhead. Vince could feel the day warming up outside. The scent of lilacs wafting through the doorway was fresh in the air. The crisp, clean country air felt good. Vince closed his eyes and held Lillian, feeling a familiar sense of home, of a childhood he’d never had.
    When Lillian finally stepped back she looked up at him, her eyes misty. “You’re a good man, Vincent. I think if your mother were here now she’d be proud of you.”
    “Lillian—” Vince protested.
    Lillian stopped him by tapping her finger on his chest. “Only the Lord knows your heart, Vincent. In the end your mother was too wrapped up in her own—Lord, dare I say— righteousness , to be concerned with the goodness of other’s hearts. It blinded her. She either didn’t see, or refused to see you for the good person you are.”
    “Despite the fact I’m a non-believer?” Vince said. He mustered a smile. He’d said it. He was a non-believing atheist.
    “Despite the fact that you’re a non-believer,” Lillian said, without missing a beat. Her features were serious. She looked more composed, more in control of herself. “You’re a good man, no matter what you believe. Don’t let the memory of what your mother used to say to you, or how she treated you, change the way I know you feel about her. Deep down she really loved you, Vincent. She loved you from the bottom of her heart.”
    Vince looked out at the road and the thick grove of trees that spanned the property across from Lillian’s. “You know, I’d really like to believe you, Lillian. But so much of the last few memories of my mother is her screaming at me over the phone, telling me I’m the spawn of the Devil, or that I’m going to burn in hell for leaving her and choosing what she called the Left Hand path.” He turned back to her. “Maybe you’ve forgotten about all that happened. When I won that scholarship to UCI. I thought she would be happy for me. She wasn’t. She told me that if I went off to college I would burn in hell.”
    Lillian’s features collapsed, as if in shame.
    “I went to college and, as you know, the relationship quickly went downhill. She sent me tracts in the mail, she called me on the phone telling me she was organizing a prayer session in the hopes I’d be saved.”
    Lillian nodded, closing her eyes. “I remember…”
    “It got so that every year at Christmas I dreaded coming home because all she would do was insist I pray with her every day at Reverend Powell’s, for hours straight. You